Disclaimer: Harry Potter, as always belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: And here's Chapter 2. In case it wasn't clear, Hermione is going to help Dumbledore clean up the war pretty quickly, but she's going to have some other stuff to deal with after that. I plan to post at least one more chapter over the holidays, so keep an eye out.
Chapter 2
Hermione again woke before her parents the next day. Funny how her two-year-old metabolism did that—or maybe her parents just couldn't get to sleep very well last night. Without anything else to do (her age-mismatched birthday presents went nearly untouched once the guests left), she again went to her parents' bedroom and climbed up onto their bed, sitting and watching them sleep.
Her presence gradually awakened them. Mum rolled over and looked up at her worriedly, an unspoken question in her eyes.
"Nope, not a dream," Hermione said squeakily.
Mum groaned and covered her eyes.
"Sorry to wake you," she said, "but we should get an early start. Talking to Dumbledore might take a while."
Mum and Dad slowly got out of bed and got ready to go. Mum made breakfast, and Dad packed the car for a day trip and scrounged together enough cash ("Better exchange at least five hundred pounds, just to be safe," Hermione said.) Hermione tried to help out, but while she managed to dress herself, her motor skills weren't good enough to do much else. It was a little embarrassing that she needed Mum's help to brush her own teeth.
Things were going okay, though, until then went to pile in the car, and she saw the perambulator. "Um…" she said, starting at it uncomfortably.
"Is there a problem, Hermione?" Dad asked.
"Three, actually. For one, I won't be able to see that well from the pram," she said. "For another, I need to be able to whisper instructions to you. But most importantly, I need to have skin contact with you for you to see through the Anti-Muggle Charms."
"Anti-Muggle Charms?" he said.
"Well, how do you think we hide things from muggles?"
"And the only way we can see the magic is by touching you?"
"Not the only way, but the only one we have right now. We can get another way to counter them a couple of ways, but it'll be easiest to just ask Dumbledore."
Dad sighed: "Okay, we can carry you, then." He lifted her into the car seat. "Oof. It's been a while since I tried to do this all day, though."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. We'll make do."
Hermione frowned at being strapped into the car seat—it felt so restrictive—but she didn't say anything. She was far too small to use a normal seat belt. She was finding that in many ways, being two was even more inconvenient than she'd expected. She was just glad that her body was (barely) developed enough to skip toilet training. She didn't know if she could have handled that.
But still, they were off. Her plan was in motion—literally, as they drove up to London. They found Charing Cross Road, and she directed Dad to the nearest car park to the Leaky Cauldron (the street layout was the same as in the 1990s). When they climbed out, Dad lifted her up in his arms against his left shoulder so that she could put one arm around his neck. Her other arm hung free, and Mum reached up so she could wrap her hand around two of her fingers. Some women they passed in the street smiled and cooed at how cute they apparently looked.
However, Hermione was mostly preoccupied with whispering instructions to Mum and Dad. "Remember, you're going to look suspicious already, wearing muggle clothes," she said. "Having a two-year-old with you will peg you as muggle-borns rather than muggles, but the war's against both of us, so if anyone asks, you're Daniel and Emma Granger, half-bloods from the House of Dagworth-Granger. You both lost your wands in an attack and need to get new ones. If they keep asking, mention Daddy's Great Uncle Hector. That should shut them up. The landlord's name here is Tom. Don't talk to anyone else if you don't have to."
"I think I've got it," Dad said.
"Is this the place?" Mum said as they came in front of a grotty little pub in between a bookshop and a record store that none of the other passers-by seemed to notice. She let go of Hermione's hand and quickly grabbed it again with a soft yelp when it appeared to change into an abandoned shop front.
"Yes, this is it, Mummy," she whispered. "Now, listen. Things are going to get weird, and they're probably going to keep getting weirder all day. Just act like it's all perfectly normal."
"Okay, perfectly normal," Dad said. "As if any of this is normal. Right, let's go."
Actually, the inside of the Leaky Cauldron still looked pretty normal by seedy pub standards, except that everyone was wearing robes and witch's hats.
"Okay, I think we're good," Hermione said. She dropped Mum's hand and moved her other arm down to Dad's shoulder, finding that they could now see clearly.
Dad nodded slightly and walked up to the bar. A few people looked up suspiciously at the newcomers, but no one spoke to them directly. "Excuse me, Tom," Dad said quietly. Old Tom turned to look at them. Hermione noticed that he still had some teeth. "My wife and I both lost our wands in the last attack. Could you open the entrance to the Alley for us?"
"Oh, of course, of course," Tom said. He came around the bar and let them to the back of the inn. "Dark, dark days," he muttered. "People losing their wands, disappearing, turning up dead…" Hermione was a little surprised that he would confide such gossip with people he didn't know, but she remembered that her parents looked like obvious muggle-borns. "Did you hear about the Prewett Twins last week?" he added.
Hermione froze.
"Um, no, can't say we have," Dad said.
Tom lowered his voice to a whisper. "Well, they're not saying much, of course, sir," he said, "but the rumours coming from certain quarters—brought down by five Death Eaters they say—five of them! You-Know-Who really must have had it in for them, if you believe it."
"Vo—? Ouch!" Dad started to say before Hermione pinched him as hard as she could. Saying Voldemort's name was the worst way to draw attention to themselves right now. Inwardly, her heart sank. She had not come back early enough to save the Weasleys' uncles, nor Marlene McKinnon, as she recalled, nor several others. She wondered if there was anyone else in the Order besides Harry's parents who was marked for death and didn't know it.
Dad tensed up as the brick wall opened. Hermione could tell he was struggling not to show his awe at the wonder of Diagon Alley. Ironically, Hermione was underwhelmed. The street was toned down and half-closed up like it was during the worst days of her own war—a pale shadow of the place of vivid life and activity that it was in 1991.
"Thank you, Tom," he said shakily, and he and Mum strolled forward. "Okay, now where to?" he whispered to Hermione.
"Gringotts. The wizard bank," she whispered back. "The big marble building with the pillars."
"The bank's open on a Sunday?" Mum said in surprise.
"The Goblins who run it have a very strong work ethic."
"Goblins?"
Gringotts was impossible to miss, looming over one end of the Alley as it did. Mum and Dad walked up the street in relative isolation. They attracted some suspicious glances, and they kept making some furtive glances of their own at all the odd shops and shoppers. Some people said hello to them, but no one asked them any questions. They eventually stopped in front of the doors of Gringotts, where the guards stood poised with their battle axes—no doubt more than prepared to use them in these turbulent times.
"Those things are goblins?" Mum whispered.
"Mm hmm," Hermione replied. "Just be polite to them, and it'll be fine."
They nervously passed the two pairs of goblin guards into the bank, where Hermione could tell Mum's and Dad's eyes were darting around frantically, trying to take in the strange sight. She gave Dad a kick with her toe, and he passed her over to Mum and walked up to the first window. The goblin teller gave him a stern look, but he just held his head up and said, "Hello, I'd like to convert five hundred pounds to galleons, please," as Hermione had told him.
Hermione whispered something in Mum's ear, and she spoke up: "Oh, and we should get a new moneybag, too, dear."
"Huh? Oh, yes, and one of those."
The teller looked at the three of them suspiciously, but he conducted the transaction with no trouble, sending them on their way with five hundred pounds' worth of wizard money, less the cost of the pouch they were carrying it in.
"Okay, so far so good," Hermione whispered. "Now we just need to go to Ollivander's. That way." She discretely pointed in the direction they needed to go.
They walked back up the Alley until they came to Ollivander's little shop front, the one with a single wand in the display window. She'd always wondered if there was something special about that wand, but probably Ollivander just liked to let his craft speak for itself.
"Are you sure he'll be open on a Sunday?" asked Dad.
"He will. The rest of the building is his house, and he gets so little business during the school year that it doesn't cost him much to unlock the door every day."
Dad hesitated in confusion. "That sounds a little backwards," he concluded.
"Well, Ollivander is pretty eccentric, but he's very good."
Sure enough, the door was unlocked. A bell rang as they entered, but the dusty shop remained silent for a couple of minutes. Finally, Ollivander shuffled into the front room. He looked nearly the same as before. He had a trifle fewer lines on his face, his silver hair was noticeably darker, and—Hermione nearly missed it, but it disturbed her to no end when she spotted it—his silver eyes were also darker to match his hair.
Ollivander looked the three of them over with a puzzled expression. "Hello, I don't believe I've ever seen you before," he said. "Just arrived in Britain, have you?"
Mum and Dad looked at each other nervously. "Er…not exactly…" Dad said.
But then, Hermione spoke up. "Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she squeaked, to his surprise. "Do you happen to have a vine wood and dragon heartstring wand in stock? One that's ten and three-quarter inches long and fairly springy?"
Ollivander just stared at the tiny, impossibly eloquent little girl in her mother's arms. Hermione had seen him this surprised only once before, when Harry had told him things about Voldemort he couldn't possibly have known in Shell Cottage—and she had never seen him this confused.
"Mr. Ollivander, sir?" she repeated.
"I…I do have a wand of that exact description," he said. "But I don't see how you could possibly know that, little girl. I only made it a few weeks ago. Nor can I fathom why you would ask."
"I would like to buy it, please."
"What?" the wandmaker half-laughed. "My dear, you are far too young to use a wand properly, if you can make one work at all. And besides, you can't just ask for a particular wand, no matter how you know about it. You see—"
"The wand chooses the witch," she quoted, to his further surprise. "But I happen to know that particular wand is mine. Please trust me, sir. It's very important."
Ollivander looked from her to both of her parents for confirmation.
"I think you should trust her," Mum said. "That's what we've been doing all morning, and she hasn't steered us wrong yet."
"I…well…alright, we can try it. I still wouldn't expect much if I were you, though." He went back into the stacks and a minute later came back carrying a thin, tan-coloured wand with a lovely vine design carved into it.
Hermione let out a childish squeal of joy and reached out and grabbed the wand—her wand—before Ollivander could even try to put it in her hand. It was like meeting an old friend again. The last time she had seen this wand was when the Snatchers had taken it from her at Malfoy Manor. It was the very same one, though twice as long in proportion to her hands. She gave it a forceful wave, and a shower of sparks erupted from the tip. Both of her parents jumped, and Ollivander staggered back in shock, clutching his hand to his chest. Emboldened by her glee, she swished and flicked her wand at the empty wand box on the counter and squeaked out, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Unfortunately, she forgot that with her poor motor skills, she couldn't aim all that well. The air was suddenly thick with flying wands. Ollivander looked close to diving for cover under the counter. However, within seconds, Hermione started to feel dizzy and lightheaded. She stopped the spell and flopped onto Mum's shoulder, still smiling.
Ollivander snatched one of the flying wands as it dropped and waved it. All of the others leapt back into their boxes and returned to their shelves. He looked back at the young family and saw the little girl cuddling the wand almost like a teddy bear and nuzzling her cheek against it. "Mm…I love my wand," she said contentedly. Her parents stared at her a bit worriedly.
"Little girl," Ollivander said shakily. "How did you know that wand would choose you? And how can you perform spells like that at your age?"
Hermione smiled. This might be the only time anyone ever got Ollivander with this line: "Magic." She giggled and then began laughing loudly.
"Now, really, Miss…" he said, perplexed.
"Granger. Hermione Granger. And I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you anything more, Mr. Ollivander. Maybe someday—after the war."
That was about as big a clue as she was willing to give him, and he caught on quickly, nodding knowingly. "Very well, Miss Granger. That will be seven galleons."
They paid for the wand, thanked Mr. Ollivander, and left. Hermione smiled as they walked back up the Alley. "This is the same wand I had in the future," she whispered. "I lost it in the war. It's really good to have it back, even though I can't really cast spells with it yet."
"But why do you need a wand if you're not strong enough to cast spells?" Mum asked.
"We need to get back to Charing Cross Road," she said. "Then you'll see."
Diagon Alley was nearly deserted as they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione tried to make whispered conversation when there weren't passersby too close to them.
"So what do you think of the magical world so far?" she asked.
Dad tried to answer. "It's certainly very…different…and impressive, but…"
"Not exactly as beautiful as I said, I know," she finished for him. "I forgot that things would be pretty dreary with the war going on, but Hogwarts is a beautiful place, that's for sure. I'm sure it is even now—" She cut off abruptly, and her eyes widened as she saw who was walking towards them. "Watch out!" she hissed. "Death Eater at twelve o'clock!"
Of all the luck. A much younger Lucius Malfoy was walking straight towards them. At his side was an equally young Narcissa carrying a baby Draco in her arms. Hermione felt Mum tense up, trying to be ready should anything happen. She hoped the Malfoys would just pass them by without comment, but she soon realised her mistake.
Lucius slowed to a stop in front of them, cleared his throat and said, "You shouldn't let your child play with your wand like that, madam."
Mum hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, she snatched the wand out of Hermione's hand. "Yes, I know, excuse me," she improvised. "Little Hermione can get a bit grabby." For once, Hermione was thankful that she had an unconventional, pureblood-sounding name.
"A firm hand is what's needed for that," Lucius drawled. He turned to Dad. "I don't believe I've seen you before. Are you new here, Mister…"
"Granger," Dad said smoothly. "We're just in town to visit my Great Uncle Hector."
Lucius nodded in recognition. "Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to meet you," he said ingratiatingly, shaking Dad's hand.
"Likewise," Dad replied. "We'd love to stay and chat, but we really are very busy."
"But of course. We shan't detain you," Lucius concluded, and they each went their separate ways.
"Phew, that was close," Hermione whispered once they were out of earshot.
"Who was that?" Dad whispered back.
"Lucius Malfoy. He's You-Know-Who's richest and second-highest lieutenant." She giggled. "If he knew he'd just shaken hands with a muggle…" Under the circumstances, Mum and Dad didn't appreciate the humour.
They got back through the Leaky Cauldron and out to Charing Cross Road without having to speak more than a couple of words to anyone, and then it was time for the next part of her plan. "Mummy, I need my wand back, please," she said. She moved her spare hand up to Mum's neck. "Daddy, you need to hold on…And brace yourselves." Dad put his hand over hers. Then, Hermione pointed her wand out to the street.
BANG!
A bright purple triple-decker bus appeared right in the middle of Charing Cross Road, despite the fact that there was no room for it there. None of the other passersby seemed to notice.
"Yikes!" Mum yelled.
"What the heck?" Dad said.
But a moment later, their confusion was answered as out of the bus stepped a much younger Ernie Prang. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," he said. "Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. And, eh, where are you off to today?"
"Gates of Hogwarts, please," Hermione said. Mum quickly took her wand back from her.
Suddenly, Ernie Prang smiled. "Well, aren't you a cute one," he said. "And what's a little witch like you up to at Hogwarts today?"
"Personal business," Dad said quickly.
"Well, step on board. That'll be thirty-three sickles. Snacks are two sickles each."
"Get a snack," Hermione whispered. "That'll make it two galleons one. Oh, and hold on tight."
"What?!" Mum hissed.
During the day, the inside of the Knight Bus was filled with chairs that weren't bolted down. That didn't seem very safe at the best of times, but now Hermione realised how very unsafe it looked for a woman carrying a small child. Fortunately, it did have the typically vertical bars to hold onto. She grabbed the nearest one with both hands and held on tight.
"Um, Hermione?" Dad whispered.
BANG!
"AHHHHH!"
"What's the matter?" Ernie Prang said. "Never had to take the Bus before?"
"Are you trying to kill us?" Mum screamed. Hermione would have castigated her for breaking character, but she was too busy trying not to crack her head on something. Mum quickly passed her back to Dad, who had a better chance of holding on to her.
It was a harrowing experience, bouncing all over Britain in the Knight Bus whilst not really having a body that could handle it and two muggle parents who didn't have a clue what was going on. She acquired several bumps and bruises that were exceedingly painful to her two-year-old nervous system. The good news was that the Knight Bus staff were generally none too bright, so they didn't get suspicious. And they were also discreet. And finally, they reached their destination, paid Ernie, and eagerly stepped out of the Bus.
"Ugh. Okay, I know what you've seen of magic so far probably hasn't impressed you much," Hermione told her increasingly impatient parents, "but this is one of the most beautiful places in the world. She motioned out across the grounds.
"Um, Hermione, baby," Mum said, "that's an old ruin with a sign that says, 'Unsafe Structure. Keep Out.'"
"Huh? Oh," she grumbled. She reached out and grabbed both of her parents' hands.
"Wow!"
Their eyes grew wide as Hogwarts Castle became visible before them—gleaming in the sun with its many turrets and towers, standing tall and strong as it overlooked the Black Lake, clean and undamaged before that final battle. Even after so many years, Hermione still marvelled at it: a High Medieval castle, but taller and fancier than any ever built by muggles. And in front of them, before the hill that led up to the great oak doors, was a huge, wrought-iron gate standing between high stone pillars, each topped with a winged boar.
"Pigs with wings. Figures," Dad said.
"There. Now do you see?" Hermione demanded.
"You were right, baby. It is beautiful," Mum agreed.
"Yes, very much so," Dad said. "But how do we get in? The gates are chained shut."
"Mummy, I need my wand again, please." She pointed it at the gates and cast, "Alohomora."
Nothing happened.
"Was that supposed to do something?" asked Dad.
"No, I'm sure they're charmed against it. But I was hoping it would alert someone we were here. She reached out and tapped her wand to the lock four times."
Suddenly the familiar voice of Minerva McGonagall echoed out, seeming to come from the bars themselves: "This is Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. Please state your name and business."
"Well, that works. My name is Hermione Granger. I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore at once. I have critical information for him regarding the war effort."
There was a pause. She seemed to have caught McGonagall off guard. "Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man," she finally said. "I can meet with you if you like."
"Please, ma'am, I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore directly. This involves the Order of the You-Know-What."
There was another pause, albeit a shorter one. "Stay where you are," McGonagall said quickly. Hermione could practically see the woman's stern face. "We will escort you to the castle forthwith."
"Order of the what?" Mum asked.
"Not here. Wait till we get inside."
A few minutes later, two teachers were hurrying across the lawn towards the gate, wands already drawn to cover them. One was a welcome face—a middle-aged Minerva McGonagall, her hair tied in a tight bun, the same as always. The other, Hermione saw, was not so welcome: a very young man with a hook nose and greasy black hair. Merlin, Severus Snape was practically her age.
"You are Ms. Granger?" Snape said, pointing his wand at Mum's face. Mum stepped back worriedly.
"No, I am," Hermione squeaked from Dad's arms.
Snape gave her only a glance and kept his wand trained on Mum. "I want to know why you're here and how you know about the Order."
"I am Hermione Granger," she repeated. "I'm here to tell Dumbledore how to stop the war and save a lot of lives—including the woman you love, Professor Snape."
"What?!" Snape snapped his wand at her, barely even noticing the strangeness of a two-year-old speaking like an adult, much less knowing his name. Dad took a step back. Hermione made a point of not looking Snape in the eye.
"Severus?" McGonagall said in confusion. "What woman you love?" Then her eyes grew wide: "Unless you still—"
"Silence!" Snape hissed. "It is far too dangerous. How can a little child know anything about that?" he demanded. "She should barely be able to speak at her age."
Hermione then looked McGonagall in the eye. "The same way Barty Crouch Junior was able to take twelve O.W.L.s," she said.
McGonagall's eyes grew even wider, while Snape said, "What? What is she talking about?"
"I'm sorry, Severus, it's classified," McGonagall told him.
"I must know," he said, grinding his teeth.
"And that is why I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione interrupted. This younger Snape seemed even more short-tempered than the one she knew before—and not surprisingly; this Snape still had something to lose.
"We need to know before we let you see him—"
"Several of the things I have to say are for Professor Dumbledore's ears only. However, I promise you that I am categorically against Voldemort—" Both Snape and McGonagall paled. "—and I have information that could end him for good. Go ahead and Legilimens me if you don't believe me."
"What?" McGonagall said.
"What?" Mum and Dad repeated.
"Mind-reading," Hermione informed them. "Go ahead, Professor Snape."
Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. But then, he waved his wand, and incanted, "Legilimens!"
Hermione had learnt Occlumency in her year of preparation for just such an occasion. However, she didn't block him out entirely. There would be no point to that. Instead, she let him see a single word: horcruxes.
Snape turned white as a sheet as he broke off the spell. "The child is right," he said. "We must take her to Dumbledore at once."
"What?" McGonagall repeated. A two-year-old speaking like she was twenty was strange enough; asking to be Legilimensed was insane. But now, what could Severus have found in her mind that had affected him so? "Severus, what is it? What did you see?" she asked.
Snape gave her just a tiny smile: "It's classified."
McGonagall sent a Patronus message to Dumbledore to expect them, and then the two teachers led the small family up to the castle under close guard, one on each side of them. It didn't take long for them to notice how the three of them constantly stayed in direct skin contact.
"Miss Granger, are you a muggle-born?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes, and it's very inconvenient," Hermione said. "I hope you have some spares of those Anti-Anti-Muggle Charms that you give to the parents of all the muggle-born first-years."
"Um…I'll see what I can do."
The group entered the castle and passed through the long, ornate galleries. Mum and Dad seemed like they would have liked more time to admire the place, but their escorts hurried them along. Soon, they had climbed up the seven flights to the Headmaster's office, and McGonagall spoke the password to enter the turning staircase.
"Thank you for your help, Professor," Hermione said politely. "Oh, and by the way, tell your husband to be more careful around the Venomous Tentacula."
"What?" she gasped. "I am not married, Miss Granger."
Hermione just grinned at her.
But to her dismay, though not her surprise, McGonagall and Snape came with them into the Headmaster's office. But that was momentarily forgotten when they opened the door.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat behind his large desk amid his many twittering silver instruments with that same old twinkle in his eyes. At a hundred, he didn't look that much younger than when she'd last seen him, but he certainly looked a lot better, even notwithstanding the fact that he'd been dead. Tears filled Hermione's eyes, and she just managed to squeak out, "Professor Dumbledore, sir, it's so good to see you alive again."
McGonagall gasped softly, but Dumbledore just raised his bushy eyebrows, having no idea what was going on. Still, being Dumbledore, he could roll with it. "Why thank you, my dear," he said, "I find it very pleasant to see me alive, too."
Hermione giggled.
"Again?" Snape said suspiciously. "Foolish child. I hardly think you've met him before, and certainly not in any condition but alive."
Hermione cursed under her breath. It wasn't mission-critical, but it was more than she had been hoping to give away.
Dumbledore looked between them in confusion. "Perhaps someone could explain the situation?" he suggested.
Professor McGonagall walked behind the Headmaster's desk and whispered in Dumbledore's ear. His eyes widened in surprise. "I believe we can humour Severus that much, Minerva. Of course, Severus, this should be kept in strictest confidence.
Meaning not going back to Voldemort, Hermione thought. Snape nodded his assent.
"It appears that young Miss Granger, here, has brought with her information from the future."
"The future?" Snape said. "She's a seer? A decent one this time?"
Hermione barely managed to suppress another giggle. It was the perfect cover. She made her squeaky voice as deep as she could and said, "I have Seen many things, Severus Snape."
"I do hope so, for all our sakes," Dumbledore said. "I should very much like to hear what you have to say, Miss Granger."
"Sorry, sir. I'm not saying anything with Snape in the room," she answered.
Snare glared at her Mum and said, "Well, I see you haven't taught her manners."
"Don't talk to Mummy like that," Hermione snapped.
"Seer or not, you will respect your elders, girl," Snape said icily. His short temper was showing again.
"I respect only those who are worthy of it," Hermione countered, glaring at him.
"Insolent brat! Just because you can provide some useful information doesn't mean—"
"Severus Tobias Snape!" she interrupted. She pointed her wand at him, willing some sparks to shoot from the tip. "Call me an insolent brat again, and I'll see just how strong a hex I can cast with this thing. Physically, I may be a child, but mentally, my mind has travelled far and wide, up and down the streams of time. In those terms, there's less than a year between us in age, and I will not be spoken to like a child, least of all by the likes of you."
Well, that was it. She'd all but blown her cover to Snape. If he didn't make the connection, it was only because he was expect a copy of the whole person to come from the future, not just memories to come to the original. But maybe, she reasoned, this was one more thing that she needed to do something about.
Dumbledore coughed softly: "Miss Granger, perhaps that's enough for now."
Hermione made a snap decision. "No, Professor, he needs to hear this, and he needs to hear this now." If she was going to play this game, then it was time to nip Snape's reign of terror at Hogwarts in the bud. She geared up for—not a full-blown tantrum, like yesterday, but definitely a serious rant. "Listen up, Severus," she said, "I am your Spirit of Past, Present, and Yet-to-Come. Yes, I know you know that reference. I know a lot about you. I know that you're secretly a half-blood raised in the muggle world." Snape froze in horror. Very few people knew that, and it could be bad for him if it got out. "I know what your mummy was like, and I know what your daddy was like." Hermione suddenly turned sharply away from him so he couldn't see her eyes. "And get out of my head! I already showed you everything I wanted you to see."
Mum and Dad glared at Snape who was by now definitely feeling himself at a disadvantage and growing very worried about she would say next.
"I know who your only friend was before coming to Hogwarts," she continued, still not looking at him except from the corner of her eye. She saw him pale still further. "I know why she hates you now. I know why she's in danger. I know why you became a spy for Dumbledore, and I know where your true loyalties lie."
Snape instinctively drew his wand. He couldn't afford to have that information floating around. But Dumbledore stopped him with a wave of his hand. "I am sure she is not a threat, or else she would have taken this information elsewhere," he said softly. Snape lowered his wand.
"As for the present," Hermione continued. "I know that you're a terrible teacher. Your teaching style resembles a cookbook, except with more insults and less discussion of theory. You berate, insult, and harass your students as if you were still a student yourself. Your disciplinary practises are blatantly unfair, particularly in giving and taking points. You are far too lenient with Slytherin and unfairly harsh to the other houses, especially Gryffindor. After only one year of teaching here, the number of students taking N.E.W.T.-level Potions has dropped dramatically, both because of lower grades and because you make people hate the subject, and within five years, that will put serious strain on the hiring of new Aurors and Healers. And don't give me some excuse about Potions being a difficult subject needed a firm hand. Slughorn never had that problem.
"You see, I know what kind of man you are, Severus, and I don't like what I see—not in the past, and not in the present. And I also know that if these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, you will be the kind of man who actively bullies a thirteen-year-old boy just because he lacks self-confidence and isn't very good at Potions—to the point of trying to poison his pet toad with his own potion. You will be the kind of man who tells a fifteen-year-old girl who's self-conscious about her teeth that you 'see no difference' when she's hit by a Tooth-Growing Hex." She felt Mum tense up when she made the connection and thought she might be about to get up and slap Snape. She squeezed her hand to keep her calm.
"You will be the kind of man whose method for teaching a fifteen-year-old boy Occlumency is to tell him to 'clear his mind' and proceed to repeatedly batter his mind without further instruction. The kind of man who singles out that boy for the greatest amount of verbal abuse and unfair treatment of anyone during his entire time at Hogwarts just because he resembles his long-dead daddy. Who assumes he's pampered like his daddy when he was actually raised in a neglectful and emotionally abusive household even worse than yours, which you should have been able to spot from day one. Who assumes he's an arrogant toe-rag like his daddy when he's really sweet and kind and caring, just like his long-dead mummy, and he even has her beautiful green eyes."
Snape had been growing increasingly pale with brief flashes of anger as he listened to this rant, delivered in the shrill voice of an angry two-year-old girl, but with a terrifying weight of truth behind it. His face turned a sickly grey at that last line. Even Dumbledore was growing more and more disturbed by the revelations, but Hermione wasn't done yet. "In the end," she said, "you'll be forced into killing the only friend you have left—the only man who was willing to give you a second chance in life, despite the fact that you're a bigger git than James Potter ever was. It will only be sheer dumb luck that you don't die alone and hated by everyone you care about.
"Now, if you really want to fix all that, I suggest you take a literal page out of Mr. Dickens's book and learn to be a decent human being. As for our current conversation, I know where your true loyalties lie, but my little clue earlier should tell you how dangerous and confidential this information must be. And besides that, what I have to say involves the full contents of the prophecy, to which I know you are not privy…so kindly butt out."
As she finished, Hermione wasn't sure if Snape was going to hex her, angrily demand to know how to save Lily, or cry, but in the end, he did none of those things. He forced his face back into a stoic expression, though he still looked deathly pale, and stood up. "Headmaster, I fear I shall be indisposed for the rest of the day," he said shakily. "I trust that you will deal with the matter of the Potters' safety?"
"Don't worry," Hermione said. "I'll make sure of it."
"Very well. Good day."
He turned on his heel and hurried out of the office. As sound as the door closed behind him, Hermione giggled incongruously and said, "I've been wanting to do that for eight years."